Why are you so afraid
by peachringsandbananas
Summary: John is still unsure of how he feels about Sherlock, yet Sherlock seems to know just how he feels already. Teenlock. May or may not continue.
1. Chapter 1

John collapsed onto his bed, closing his eyes tightly and wishing that he could close out all the thoughts that were plaguing his mind as well. He /did not/ like Sherlock. He just didn't. Sure, everyone always just assumed they were together and they laughed it off, and maybe he wished that just once Sherlock would whisper out a firm "yes" and put his fingers against his wrist and say "of course" and pull him into a kiss and… no. No, he definitely was not in love with Sherlock. For one, they were both guys, and for two, Sherlock was a complete dick. Who would ever like Sher- _you._

Maybe it was true, Sherlock was… insane. But he wasn't just insane, and he knew it. Maybe he was the only one who ever would. He was so lonely… Poor little Sherlock with no friends and no family he ever even bothered to mention… By all means, John should be staying as far away from him as possible. And yet, something in him just wouldn't leave.

_It's because you love him you idiot. _No. That was not what that was. Sure he loved him like a brother… Like a friend. But never LOVE. Never that.

"John, honey?" His mother tapped on the door lightly, her voice only a soft whisper.

"Yeah?" He sat up, shaking his head to clear his mind.

"Sherlock is here. I wasn't aware you had invited him over…" She trailed off for a second before continuing. "He's waiting in the kitchen, I'll send him in."

He could hear her light footsteps heading back down the hall, his heart beating faster and faster as they headed away. Not Sherlock. Not right now.

Before he had time to calm himself down, the door was creaking open and the tall gangly boy poked his head in, a smirk crossing his lips. "Hello, John."

He scowled at him, standing up abruptly. "What are you doing in my house?"

"Oh, nothing really…" He pushed his way in, glancing around at the boring room around him. "A bit dull of a room for you, I expected more…"

John could already feel the blush rising up to his cheeks, his voice wavering.

"W-would you just get out?"

Sherlock turned back to him, face only a few inches from his- he always had had a nasty personal space issue- warm breath spreading across his lips in short puffs.

"Why should I do that? You seem to be enjoying my presence."

"No, I'm not actually, so just leave."

"Are you sure?" Cold fingers pressed themselves to his wrist, holding themselves firmly in place no matter how hard he tried to tug them away.

"Sherlock! You're being ridiculous!" With one last tug, his hand came free, and he took a step back. Sherlock looked… afraid. It was probably the first time he ever saw him look that way ever since he had met him.

"I'll just go then."

"Sherlock, wait…"

"Quite alright, John, I have a few things I need to do before it gets too late…"

The door creaked shut, and the footsteps disappeared down the hall, but the whole thing still replayed through his head as if it was still in motion.

_Why are you so afraid, Sherlock? _


	2. Chapter 2

Sherlock wasn't anywhere to be found for the next few days. Texts stayed unanswered. Calls unreturned. Even as he knocked at his door, he was only greeted by silence. He couldn't help but wonder if it was his fault. That he had done something that drove Sherlock away. Before he began to worry too much about it, he finally got an answer.

_"Open your door. SH"_

John ran down the stairs, ignoring his mother's worried questions as he flew past, swinging the door open and searching around for any signs of the other boy. Sherlock waved halfheartedly from the driveway, beckoning John outside.

"I'm going out for a bit!" He called back to his mom, escaping into the quickly darkening night without a moment's hesitation.

"Sherlock, are you bloody insane? It's 11:00 at night and you decide to go for a stroll after virtually disappearing for a week?"

"I told you I had things to do." Sherlock answered simply, shoving his hands in his pockets and training his eyes towards the road ahead of them. John didn't respond, letting the clicking of their shoes against the pavement be the only sound escaping into the night. As the steady rhythm continued, John found himself lost in thought once more.

_What if it's your fault he's being so quiet? What if he's ashamed to know you're so obsessed with him? Maybe he's upset because he thinks you're lying? No, that's stupid; he doesn't even like you, why would he care?_

Before he could continue his analysis, Sherlock broke the silence.

"About what happened in your room the other night-"

"No. Sherlock, it was nothing. Don't press the issue."

"Pulses don't lie, John. But you obviously are." He stopped suddenly, grabbing onto John's arm. He resisted, muttering curses under his breath and attempting to untangle his sweat hand from his, but Sherlock held tightly as he had last time.

"Stop struggling and look." He muttered, forcing John's gaze to shift to look down onto his wrist.

"Now give me your hand." Sherlock reached out with his free hand, grasping John's in his own and raising his fingers so they were resting on his own exposed wrist.

"Sherlock, stop it." He pressed, but he didn't bother to continue struggling, he could feel the quickened pace beneath his fingers, and there was no denying that fact.

"Your pulse…" He glanced back up to look into Sherlock's eyes, voice wavering at the intense gaze he was met with. "Does that mean…"

"Of course."

Before he knew it he was dissolving in Sherlock's arms, lips pressed hard against his and mind going blank of thought. It was cold and dark and possibly the most un-romantic night you could have possibly stumbled upon, yet it was perfect... undeniably perfect.


End file.
